


No Problem

by LeotheLionathefootofOrion



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends With Benefits, Homophobia, Hurt Crowley, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Student Aziraphale, Student Crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeotheLionathefootofOrion/pseuds/LeotheLionathefootofOrion
Summary: No problem, Crowley thinks. No problem at all. Anything for you. Even after two months of radio silence and not even a message on my birthday. No problem.- x -The whole friends with benefits thing really isn’t doing Crowley any favours.





	1. Chapter 1

He gets the message at 11am. He’s still lying in bed, in his dark flat. Sulking, maybe, like he’s been sulking for the whole summer. He hates the way the notification makes his heart stutter like a trapped bird.

_Got_ _time_ _for_ _drinks_ _later?_

He clicks the message so fast he nearly drops the phone, and hates himself for it immediately. But he’s already typing a reply.

_you’re_ _back_ _in_ _London_? _sure_, _i_ _can_ _make_ _time_

His head thunks back against the pillow. Damn him, damn him damn him.

_Wonderful! Pick_ _me_ _up_ _at_ _8pm?_

_no_ _problem_

No problem, Crowley thinks. No problem at all. Anything for you. Even after two months of radio silence and not even a message on my birthday. No problem.

It very much is a problem, but Crowley isn’t going to think about that. He heaves himself out of bed and into the shower. Sure, he’s got nine hours before he meets Aziraphale. But he’s got to do something with his time.

They met at the university Pride Society’s Halloween bar crawl. Two people, completely alone in the crowded gay bar, suddenly standing very close together. Suddenly doing tequila shots, laughing. Kissing at the exact stroke of midnight.

They had sex. It was Crowley’s first time. A fact that he dutifully concealed from Aziraphale, who was certainly not a virgin. It was good, and they slept in Aziraphale’s single bed pressed together in a sandwich of sweat. In the morning, Aziraphale opened the window and the world smelt like new rain.

And then he gently, apologetically, shepherded Crowley from the flat - “Before anyone wakes up, you know. Besides, I have to get ready for church.”

Crowley left amicably, with Aziraphale added to his Facebook friend list, and a slight limp. He confided quietly in the flatmate he hated the least (Anathema Device, the strangest girl Crowley had ever met). He smiled softly for the rest of the day.

A week after, he met Aziraphale at the student’s bar. They kissed up against a hand dryer in the bathroom. They had sex in Aziraphale’s bed. Afterward, Crowley smoked a cigarette outside while Aziraphale ate a chocolate biscuit.

“I don’t date men,” Aziraphale confided gently. “What I’m saying is - I’m not looking for a relationship. The sex is really lovely but... perhaps we might continue to do it as friends, and nothing more?”

Crowley stubbed out his cigarette and grinned like his heart wasn’t doing strange things in his chest. “No problem. Mind if I stay the night? It’s a long walk home.”

Not the standard recipe for a friendship, but it worked. It still works, Crowley tells himself fiercely, sliding his way into his skinny jeans. Friends with benefits works for them, whatever Anathema might say to the contrary. Crowley is fine with it.

They see each other frequently, for drinks and good food and good fucking. Aziraphale left for the summer with a cheerful wave, while Crowley remained behind. He didn’t have a clean cut, middle class family to return to. It’s fine, though.

It’s fine that Aziraphale left him on read for the whole summer, seeing his messages and stupid memes but never replying. It’s fine that his birthday came and went without a single sound from Aziraphale. They’re not boyfriends.

But they are - Crowley thinks so anyway - friends. And maybe it hurts a little that Aziraphale thinks so little of him.

He slips a condom into his wallet, because Aziraphale always forgets. He begins to make up a series of carefully crafted events to tell Aziraphale about. Parties and bars and good times. He’s not going to sit there and admit that he spent the summer reading and writing sad poetry in his tiny, shitty flat.

He thinks about the first morning that they woke up together and tries to pin point the moment he fell in love. He tries to summon the smell of rain on that Sunday morning. The memories come easily and he bathes in them. Bathes in the time when he imagined that Aziraphale might fall in love with him, too.

At 7:30 he gets into his car and speeds across the city. He will always come when Aziraphale calls, no problem. No problem at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale sips his drink. It’s JD and coke, cheap and cheerful and sweet. Crowley hates it, but he drinks it anyway, to be companionable. It’s sweet of him, sweet as the coke mixed in with the alcohol. So sweet that it burns.

Crowley is rambling about a party he attended a few weeks ago. Aziraphale wishes he’d been there, and his heart burns with jealousy when Crowley describes the cute boy he danced with. He reminds himself sharply that he isn’t allowed to feel like that.

“And what did you do with your summer?” Crowley asks finally with what seems like false cheerfulnes, sipping his drink with a wry face. Aziraphale looks down at the sticky tabletop and traces a finger over the rim of his glass.

“I... well. Not a lot, really,” He begins, then stops himself. Because he’s being honest now, no more lying to Crowley. “Actually, I came out to my family, at the beginning of the holiday. It, uh. Didn’t go too well, I’m afraid.”

He smiles falsely and chugs back the rest of his drink. When he moves the glass away from his face, Crowley is staring at him. “You... came out?”

Aziraphale nods heavily. “Mmm. It didn’t make me very popular. Gabriel gave me something of an ultimatum: renounce the ‘lifestyle’ or...” He makes a dismissive gesture which Crowley understands perfectly. “Obviously I went for the former option, at least, I pretended to. I needed somewhere to live for the summer. Gabriel took my phone and my laptop and I spent the months in quiet repentance.”

He watches Crowley’s face as it goes through a torrent of emotions. “You brother is an asshole.” He says finally, and Aziraphale startles himself by laughing. 

“Yes, quite. More drinks?” He stands up a little too quickly, heading to the bar before Crowley can answer. He needs to clear his head before he says all that he needs to say to Crowley.

He comes back with gin and lemonade, which makes Crowley smile just a little bit. He looks worried, though, twisting his bony hands into knots.

“Aziraphale, your family... They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Aziraphale can see anxiety in his bright eyes, even behind his perpetual sunglasses. Aziraphale smiles at his concern.

“Oh no, dear. Nothing like that. Harsh words were exchanged, but nothing more than that. In a few years I shall be free of all that anyway. It was simply frustrating not be... accepted,” He shrugs, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “But I knew that was how it would be.”

Crowley nods miserably. He never talks about his own family, but Aziraphale suspects that there’s a history there. He’s seen the scars on Crowley’s shoulder blades. He’s always been to afraid to ask, though.

He swallows a mouthful of his drink and sits up a bit straighter. “Crowley, I... there’s something I need to say to you. Is that alright?”

Crowley nods, and seems to sink down in his chair, looking small and worried. Aziraphale longs to reach over and comfort him, but he restrains himself. If he doesn’t make a mess of this, there will be time for that later.

“Firstly, I owe you an apology,” He begins. Crowley looks up sharply, but doesn’t say anything, so Aziraphale presses on. “The way I have treated you over the last year has been, frankly, beastly. I am deeply ashamed of my behaviour. There’s no excusing it.”

Crowley’s expression morphs through shock and confusion, but he’s still completely silent. Aziraphale swallows and stares at the table.

“In all honesty, I have spent the last few years of my life being... terribly afraid. When I realised that I was, ah. Gay,” He swallows hard. “It terrified me. I dealt with it very badly, and a lot of my angst was inflicted on you. I know I hurt you Crowley, you don’t need to deny it.”

Crowley doesn’t deny it. Behind his sunglasses he looks close to tears.

“The friends with benefits arrangement didn’t suit you from the start, and I saw that,” Aziraphale wrings his hands desperately. “But I was too selfish to stop. I wanted - want you. From the very beginning, I wanted anything and everything with you. But I was so scared. I’m still scared. I don’t think I can carry on...”

He trails off, watching as Crowley stands up slowly, supporting himself with the table. He looks utterly stricken, confused, hurt. 

“You don’t have to say these things to spare my feelings,” He rasps. “You can just say it. That you don’t want to- to fuck, anymore. Honestly, I’m fine with it. Whatever you want, it’s no problem. Never a problem.”

Aziraphale sits still, frankly shocked by Crowley’s words. He gets so lost in trying to puzzle out what on Earth he might have meant, that he doesn’t even see Crowley stumbling away from the table and out into the street.

By the time Aziraphale catches up with him, Crowley is leaning on a wall. His lithe body is bent over and his sunglasses have fallen off. They lie shattered on the pavement. Aziraphale realises with horror that Crowley is crying, sobbing fiercely and achingly so hard that he can barely breathe.

He hurries to his friend (but what right does he have to call Crowley a friend?) and takes him by the shoulders, lowering him slowly to the floor. Crowley trembles and folds in Aziraphale’s arms, to his great surprise. He holds on tightly, like a limpet.

“My dear, my darling, you misunderstood me. I wasn’t saying - what you thought I was saying. I don’t want less with you, I want more. I always have,” Aziraphale says desperately. “I don’t deserve it, I’ve treated you abominably.”

“Can’t deny that,” Crowley hiccups against his shoulders. “You’re a right bastard, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale hangs his head. He knows that. He knows that he’s messed up. Crowley nudges him gently.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not hopelessly in love with you, though.” He half laughs, half sobs. Aziraphale goes almost rigid with shock.

“You really are? Even after everything?” He asks faintly. Crowley nods, emphatically.

“Absolutely. Oh, I’m incredibly pissed off at you, and I’m going to force you to read all the shitty poetry I wrote about you this summer. And you might have to spend the rest of your life making up for this, but... I love you, Aziraphale. I’ve loved you since the first time I lay in your arms and heard you muttering in your sleep about crepes.”

Aziraphale tugs Crowley close against his chest, fervently kissing the top of his head. Crowley actually melts, relaxing more than Aziraphale has ever witnessed before.

“I’ll make it up to you. If it takes 6000 years, even,” He swears, almost crying. “I don’t deserve to love you, but I do. I do.”

Crowley kisses him, then. Hesitant, and anxious, like he’s expecting Aziraphale to pull away. Of course, he doesn’t. He lets Crowley kiss him softly, accepting his chaste pace.

“Back to your place?” Aziraphale asks finally, cupping Crowley’s face in his hands. “I want to hold you, my darling. I want to hold you forever.”

Crowley gives him a watery smile. “No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments on the last chapter! They really helped get me motivated. Please do comment if you can!

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any errors! Please leave a comment!


End file.
